"Oh, you did! Well, commend me to one of my compatriots to ferret out my intentions. I heard Cale say you were born in New York." "Yes, twenty-six years ago, but I have lived most of my life in the country, in northern New England." "Wh--?" he caught himself up in his question, and I ignored it. "That climate is really just as severe as the Canadian, so I feel quite at home in this." "May I ask if your parents are living?" "No, they 're not living; my mother died when I was born. I told Delia Beaseley so when I applied for this place." ("Now is my time; courage!" I exhorted myself in thought.) "I 'm glad you know Delia Beaseley, she 's a fine woman." "A noble one," I said, heartily. "Yes, noble--and good." "And good," I repeated. "I think I 'll tell you a little how good." "I think I know." "You do?" He looked surprised. "Yes, she told me something of her life." He turned squarely to me then. "How came she to?" He asked bluntly. "Now, courage, Marcia Farrell, out with it," I said to myself, but aloud: "She said I resembled some one whom she knew years ago--some one who, she said, had 'missed her footing'." "She said that?" I nodded. "Then she spoke of her own life and what came of it--how she had tried to save others; and one thing led on to another until I felt I had always known her." He turned again to look at me, and it was given me to read his very thought:--Have you ever come near missing your footing? Did Delia Beaseley save you from any pitfall? I answered his unspoken thought: "Oh, you may take my word for it I am wholly respectable--always have been. I could n't have answered your advertisement if I had n't been." "The deuce you are! Well, young lady, I 'll ask you not to answer a man's thoughts again before he has given them expression; it's uncanny." He was growling a little. I laughed aloud, for it delighted me to puzzle him a bit, especially with the revelation of my identity in prospect. I was enjoying the pung ride too. We were on the river road. The black tree trunks, standing out against the white snow-covered expanse of the St. Lawrence, seemed to speed past us. The sharp bits of ice-snow flew from the fleet horses' hoofs, and now and then one stung my cheek. "Cale informed me that you worked in the New York Library; may I ask how you happened to answer the advertisement?" "I wanted to get away from the city--far away." "Tired of it--like the rest of us?" "Yes--and I was ill." He gave me a look that was suddenly wholly professional. "Long?" "Ten weeks." "What was it?" "Typhoid pneumonia with pleuri--" "And you were going to come out with me for a spin in that ulster!" He roared so at me that the horses, taking fright at the sound of his voice, plunged suddenly and gave him plenty to do to calm them into a trot again. I enjoyed the equine gymnastics so promptly provided for his diversion. "I was at St. Luke's." I volunteered this information when he was free to receive it.